


The Angel Who Forgot What He Was

by lacqueluster (GG_and_MM)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Grace Kink, Mating, Possessive Gabriel, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 04:20:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9962927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GG_and_MM/pseuds/lacqueluster
Summary: When Sam's word of the day calendar sparks a question for Gabriel, you aren't expecting where things end up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Gabriel Monthly Challenge blog February prompt:  
> Aliferous - meaning to have wings. 
> 
> This was also written for a good friends birthday. I'm sorry this is late, ashiewesker, I hope you like it!
> 
> Please note: I switched perspectives between the reader and Gabriel in this one. I've never done that, I always write from one or the other, but I've read fics like this and liked them. I'm not sure I'm a fan of writing like this though, so please let me know what you think of it!

“Gabe?”

 

He looks over from his end of the couch, your feet resting in his lap. He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to go on. 

 

“Are you really aliferous?”

 

He blinks once, twice. “Haven’t heard that word since about 1775. Where’d you pick that up?” 

 

“Sam’s word-of-the-day calendar. _ Aliferous _ ,” you quote, “ _ meaning to have wings _ .” That’s one place the question came from. The other is all the reading you’ve been doing on angels lately. And so much of the information is contradictory. You want to set the record straight on at least this one thing.

 

“Yeah, that’s what it means alright. Doubt that one makes a comeback. Doesn’t have that ring to it, like meme or facepalm.” 

 

You laugh a little. How and why he keeps up with all that is beyond you. Most angels care nothing for pop culture. 

 

“So do you?” You prompt him to answer.

 

“Do I have wings?”

 

You nod. 

 

“Well I’m an angel. What do you think?” His hand rests on your feet, warming them.

 

“So you do?” He’s not really answering the question. 

 

“Why are you asking?”

 

“I don’t know, just curious I guess. I mean, what do they look like? Do they have feathers? Do they look like a bird? Are they just like, part of your grace or something? Do you really have six?”

 

That surprises him. “You been reading up on me?” 

 

He’s deflecting. He’s a master at it. He’s not answered one question since you asked, his hands aren’t moving like they were before, gently rubbing your feet. He’s still joking, but he’s a little uncomfortable somehow. 

 

“No,” you decide to drop it. There’s no reason to push this, it was just a curious question. No need to make him uncomfortable. “I just wondered, that’s all.”

 

You turn back to the movie, trying to pick up the story again. It’s boring, which is why you’d started talking to him anyway. A nap would be better than watching this. 

 

Wings aren’t something that Gabriel thinks about often. He tucked them away long ago, folded them up and hid them. They would have betrayed his true nature when he was trying to hide it, and even now, centuries later, he hasn’t unfurled them. He wonders what it would feel like to stretch them after all these years. 

 

Gabriel shifts a little, turning toward you slightly. You don’t look back at him. He goes over your conversation in his head. You seem to be prepared to drop it, but should he expect that? Your question seemed innocent enough. He hadn’t been prepared for a question about his Angel side. You don’t normally ask things like that. It caught him off guard. But does he really need to be on guard with you anymore? He knows you well, and you know as much of him as he’ll let you see. 

 

He clears his throat, runs a warm hand over your feet and ankles. “Yes.” 

You look at him, raise your eyebrows for him to go on. 

 

“Yes, we have wings. I have wings.” 

 

You nod. Should you ask more? He answered your question, the basis of it anyway. “Can I ask you questions about them?” 

 

“Okay, sure. What the hell.” Gabriel turns the tv off, and turns to focus on you fully. If you’re going to have this conversation he’s going to do it right. “Shoot.” 

 

Where should you start? When you’d read the word on the calendar you’d had a million questions bubble up. Right now they’ve all disappeared. 

 

“Um, well, are they like bird wings?” 

 

“What other kind of wings are there?” 

 

Another deflection. 

 

“Gabe, we don’t have to talk about this if it bothers you. I know talking about angel stuff isn’t your favorite thing.” 

 

“No,” he shakes his head just a little. He’s defelcting, you’ve called him out on that before. It’s a reflex of his, he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. “You’re right. It’s not my favorite thing. I tried not to think about it for a long time, but I don’t have to hide it now. It’s fine, sugar. Really.” 

 

You think that over. He’s trying to open up here, not be the laughing, joking Trickster that you’re used to. You need to appreciate that, respect it. 

 

“So, are they like a bird? Or a bat?”

 

He raises his eyebrows at that, smiles a little. “I forgot about bats. I wish I could say that every renaissance artist got it wrong, angels are really flapping around with bat wings, but no. A bird is closer to the physiology.” 

 

“So you have feathers?” 

 

“Yes. A little bigger than your average bird though.” 

 

“What color are they? Are they really white?” 

 

Gabriel chuckles at that, relaxes a bit. These questions are innocent. Why did this topic make him nervous? “Some are. Mine aren’t.” 

 

You want to jump on that, ask him a million questions about the color of his wings. You try to stay calm. No need to make him think you’re crazy. 

 

“Do you molt and stuff?” 

 

“That’s, uh,” Gabriel frowns a bit, “that’s a good question.” How should he answer this?

 

Strange answer. You try to think of something else to ask, turn the conversation a different direction, he goes on after a few passing moments. 

 

“We do, yes, but when we molt we’re grounded, we can’t fly. Birds molt too, but ours is more severe.”

 

“For how long?” 

 

He looks up at you again. “Dunno, a few weeks I guess? Never paid much attention to a human's concept of time.” 

 

Well. That’s something to wrap your head around. 

 

“So you can’t fly for weeks when you molt?” 

 

He shakes his head. “It makes us vulnerable, weak. We go off alone, usually. Sometimes friends pair off, or if we have a mate they stay with us, protect us.”

 

He hasn’t had that. He said himself he stayed alone for a long time. That’s sad to think about. 

 

Gabriel pushes down the loneliness in his chest. He’s never had a mate, hasn’t had anyone there with him for a molt in thousands of years. “Our wings take longer to heal too. If they’re injured we’re often grounded until they recover.” 

 

He’s volunteering information now. You’re sure as hell not going to interrupt. 

 

“Other angels sometimes target them in attacks. It’s horrific to watch another angel have their wings clipped. Angels who do things like that are shunned.”

 

This is not anywhere near how you thought this conversation would go. He looks sad, staring at your feet, absently rubbing them in your fuzzy socks. He’s remembering things, things he probably wishes he could forget. 

 

Gabriel sighs, shaking off the somber memories of fighting brothers and flightless friends. “What else did you ask? Oh, do I really have six?” 

 

You nod. 

 

“No, seraphim have six. Archangels don’t.” 

 

That’s interesting, not something you knew. 

 

“Do you have to preen them?” That was a stupid question. Where did that even come from? Dammit. 

 

“You imagine us like overgrown chickens? Sitting in our nests, faces buried in each others feathers?” Gabriel laughs a little, imagining this. “No. Our wings resemble a bird’s, and we do molt, but they don’t have to be preened. Our feathers are…” he pauses, apparently searching for a word, “different.” 

 

“Oh, okay,” you say. Different. Different  _ how? _ That should be your next question.    
  


“Not that it doesn’t feel good though.” 

 

Your mouth forms a little ‘o’. You don’t know what to say to that. Why did he tell you that exactly? 

 

“But, no,” Gabriel almost feels himself blush, “we don’t have to be preened. It’s just something angels do for comfort. If they need it. Most don’t though. Maybe comfort is a bad word, more like bonding. No, that’s…” 

 

Why doesn’t he shut up now? Imagining your hands in his feathers is not what he needs to be doing right now. Preening is foreplay for angels, but he doesn’t want to turn this conversation x-rated when you’re trying to learn about him. He always seems to turn your conversations x-rated. He needs to stop that.

 

He trails off a little, seeming to kick himself for what he’s saying. He turns back to the TV and turns it on. 

 

You stare at his profile. That was bizarre. There had to be a reason for that little outburst. You let him watch the movie while you watch him, thinking. After some time passes you decide to ask another question, just one more, and see what he says. 

 

“Can I see them?”

 

He doesn’t react to the question right away. In fact, after a few silent seconds, you wonder if he heard you. Which is ridiculous obviously, he’s an angel, he can probably hear conversations happening in China. Who knows. 

 

When he looks at you his face is rather blank. 

 

“I’m sorry?” Gabriel had to have misheard that. You couldn’t have possibly asked to see his wings just as he was thinking about you running your hands down his flight feathers. It’s impossible.

 

“I just,” you sit up a little, pull your feet out of his lap. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I don’t…” Should you apologize? You’re not sure. “Is that something between mates too? Can only mates see each others wings? I didn’t know.” 

 

Gabriel leans forward, elbows on his knees. He looks at his hands, studies them, turning them over. “It’s been a long time since anyone has seen my wings. Hell, since I’ve seen them myself. I’ve been in this body so long it almost feels more a part of me than my wings do.”

 

He doesn’t talk about things like this, hardly ever. There’s a sadness to his voice that he rarely shows. It’s reserved for long lost memories of his father and family. 

 

“It takes a lot of trust to show another angel your wings,” he goes on. “And showing a human, that’s almost unheard of. The shadows sure, but showing a human your wings?” Gabriel shakes his head. The only angels who’ve shown humans their wings were taking them as mates, and as much as Gabriel wants to claim you, he won’t do that. You don’t need to be burdened by being tied to an ancient runaway archangel. 

 

“That’s okay,” you try to reassure him. He seems so sad telling you all this that you feel like your should make it up to him. You’re the one that started this conversation anyway. Maybe you’ll suggest going out for pancakes or something. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry.” 

 

Gabriel finally looks away from his hands, head turning to meet your eyes. “For what?” What could you possibly apologizing for? You haven’t done anything wrong

 

“I shouldn’t have asked to see them. I shouldn’t have started this whole thing, I didn’t mean to make you sad--”

 

“No, no,” he kneels beside you, resting a hand on your arm. “You didn’t make me sad. It’s sad that I’ve gone this long in hiding. For longer than you can imagine I denied what I was so I wouldn’t be found. I think I slip back into that without thinking sometimes.” He smiles a little, a sad, almost broken smile. “I’m the angel who forgot what he was,” his laugh is forced, he’s not even finding his own joke funny. 

 

He’s trying to joke. It makes your heart ache. You kiss him, pressing your lips to that small, strained smile. He returns it, eyes closing briefly, and then you pull away. This is one of those conversations you’ll probably regret starting for the rest of your life. If you weren’t in front of him you’d cry.  

 

“Do you want to see them?” Those clear, golden eyes search your face. 

 

“Gabe,” you touch his face, “you don’t have to do that. I shouldn’t have asked in the first place. I don’t want to break an angel rule or something. Probably some doctrine saying humans can’t see an angel's wings.” 

 

“Since when do I care about rules?” He gives you a wink, and then he gets serious again. “Listen, sweetheart, the thing is, it takes trust to show our wings. We’re opening ourselves up to someone in a way I don’t think a human can understand.”

 

You nod your acceptance. 

 

“I think you might understand though. If I can trust anyone, it’s you.” Gabriel knows this is true. He feels it deep down. He can trust you with this. And for the first time, he  _ wants _ to trust someone with this. 

 

You blink, determined not to cry. This is big, what you’ve asked him, what he’s offering you. Now’s not the time to break out in tears. 

 

“Yeah,” you peck a kiss on his lips, “I’d be honored.” 

 

He stands then, and you think he’s about to just whip them out, flap them around. You’re not sure you’re ready yet. Shouldn’t you prepare or something? 

 

Gabriel looks up at the ceiling, at the walls on the sides. This won’t work. “They won’t fit here, we have to go somewhere else.” 

 

Oh. Well that makes sense. You guess? Sure it does. His wingspan would have to be huge. 

 

You stand in front of him, straighten your clothes. “Where should we go?” 

 

“Outside.” 

 

Duh. Obviously. 

 

You follow him up and out of the bunker. The fields surrounding it are planted in wheat, hundreds and hundreds of acres. He starts walking toward the center of one and you follow. 

 

“If someone is driving by will they see them?” You ask. 

 

“We’re going to that tree,” he points. There’s a land marker with a tree at least a mile off the road, you’re going to be walking awhile. “That far away it’ll be easier to hide them from anyone passing by.” 

 

So they’d still be able to see. These wings must be huge. 

 

The tree, once you reach it, offers shade, and a little buffer from the winds whipping over the open fields. The wheat bows and rolls, like green waves of the ocean all around you. There are birds in the tree, singing and flitting from branch to branch. They quiet when you approach, a few of them flying away, but most of them stay. 

 

You sit under the tree, back leaned up to the bark. Walking through fields is more tiresome than you’d imagine. The ground is a little uneven, it makes you work for every step. You should have thought to have him snap you here. Why didn’t you do that? But the walk time was probably a good thing, it let you think and mentally prepare yourself for whatever you’re about to see. If it’s possible to prepare yourself to see an angel’s wings. Probably not.

 

Gabriel looks up to the sky, big and blue. White wisps of clouds, mares tales they call them, drift high above. He squints, and then looks down at you where you sit. This is a moment he’d never thought he’d have in his long life, showing his wings to a human. He doesn’t know how you’ll react. It could scare you. What if you panic? Faint? Realize he’s not a human at all and run? Because that’s his biggest fear. You know he’s an angel, but other than little things, snapping things up, snapping you here or there, you treat him like he’s normal. Wings are definitely not normal.

 

You wonder how he’ll show you his wings. Will he have to undress or something? Where will they come from? Where are they now? You wonder if you should ask these things, and decide not to. You’ve asked enough questions for one day. 

 

He stretches his neck, rolling it side to side, eyes half closing. His shoulders push back, like he’s trying to touch his shoulder blades together, and then Gabriel lets go of them. He’s held them back so long it’s almost painful when they spread, and then it’s relief, like the blood rushing back to a leg that’s fallen asleep. 

 

There’s a cracking in the air, something like static makes the hair on your arms stand up, and your eyes close instinctively when it snaps over the skin on your face. Once it’s gone you open your eyes, and there he is. There’s a haziness around him at first, like waves of heat lifting off of pavement, but the wings are there, and as the air settles they seem to somehow set more firmly into reality.  

 

His wings. They’re massive. Each one is easily three times the length of his human body, so when he stretches them out fully at his sides, they’re six times his height. The color is difficult to describe. When you look directly at a feather it’s a reddish brown, something close to an eagle or a hawk’s feather. But in your peripheral vision they have a gold cast, glinting and glittering where your eyes aren’t directly looking. 

 

Gabriel looks down at you, watching, waiting. You’re breathing fast, eyes wide, mouth parted. You looked stunned, awed, like you can’t comprehend what you’re seeing. He feels exposed in a way he never has before, it’s exciting and scary all at once. 

 

You open your mouth to speak, but there’s nothing to say really. There aren’t words that fit in this situation. You watch as he moves them, stretching and flexing, like someone who’s been riding in a car too long and feels bunched up. 

 

When he folds them up, their arch curves well over his head, and he has to adjust them so that the tips of the feathers don’t dig into the ground. When he straightens them out to his sides again he sighs softly, and he can shift them so low on his shoulders that he can put his arm over them to twist into a stretch. The anatomy of that somehow doesn’t work, and you know that’s because he’s residing in a human vessel right now. They would probably fit onto his body a little differently if he weren’t in a vessel. 

 

He watches you stand and brush off your jeans after a few quiet minutes studying him. You don’t appear frightened exactly, and you haven’t fainted, which he figures are all good things. You step closer with hesitation, and Gabriel smiles, trying to reassure you without words. 

 

Neither of you seem ready to speak, but Gabriel’s smile lets you know it’s okay to come closer. His wings rustle and move, and they don’t make the same sound as a bird's feathers. It’s not a soft whisper, it’s a louder, almost harsher somehow. 

 

You step up close to him, not able to tear your eyes away from the feathers that are within your reach now. His hand moves up, cups your chin, pulls it up to look at him. 

 

Gabriel wants to say something, just the right thing, but he doesn’t know what that is. He studies your eyes, looking at him with wonder. He almost makes a joke, one of those, “my eyes are up here,” type things, but he doesn’t. Whatever this moment is it’s not one for joking. When you lean into his arms he pulls you as close as he can. This is right. This feels right. 

 

You slide your arms around Gabriel's waist, holding him tightly. Your face rests on his shoulder, and the glinting feathers are just inches from your face. You see what he means now, they’re similar to a bird’s, but different. They look soft, like all feathers do, but also sharp, almost like they’re made of metal. 

 

Your hands grip in his shirt at first, holding on, and then you rub his lower back. You gradually works your hands up, slow circles leading up to his ribs, where the base of the wings start. He sucks in a breath when you touch them and you freeze, afraid you hurt him. Maybe they’re too sensitive for that? Maybe it’s not allowed?

 

Gabriel feels you move, tries to pull back at his reaction. Your hands at the base of his wings almost made him groan it felt so good. He puts a hand on the back of your neck, turns his face toward you and nods, hoping you’ll know he means it’s okay, don’t stop. 

 

You relax a little, his hand massaging your neck gently. You feel him nod and know he’s trying to tell you it’s okay, touching his wings is okay. Why neither of you wants to speak in this moment you’re not sure, but you’re not going to push it. Breaking this silence almost seems disrespectful, though you’re not sure why. 

 

Your hands move again, and he breathes deep, like he’s smelling you. You feel small feathers where his wings somehow come out of his shirt. How that’s working is another thing you don’t understand, but you wish his shirt was off so you could feel the skin around them. 

 

The feathers are soft, warm and smooth under the tips of your fingers. You’re afraid to touch them too roughly, feathers have always seemed so delicate, like breakable things. These feathers somehow seem to react to you though, like they give and push into your palm, arching like a cat that wants attention. It’s a strange feeling. 

 

Gabriel could die content right now, your hands lightly rubbing the bases of his wings. This is the most intimate thing he thinks he’s ever done, and somehow he thinks you understand that. As your hands slide over feathers he raises them, wanting more contact. He wishes he were naked, pressed tight against you. He’s starting to feel possessive, which is scary and invigorating. He knows what this is, this feeling, it’s wanting to take a mate. His grace is stirring, more than it has in a long time. It wants to mark you as his,  _ he _ wants to mark you as his. As much as he knows you understand the intimacy of seeing and feeling his wings, you don’t understand the implications if he mated with you. He won’t do that. Not without explaining, and this isn’t the time for it. 

 

Gabriel’s grips your hips, one hand gliding low over your ass. He presses you even closer, if that’s possible, and you can feel him getting hard. Once again you wish the shirt was gone, and the rest of the clothes between you. Maybe you shouldn’t be turned on in this situation, but you can’t help it, especially with his arousal growing between you. 

 

You shift your hands, drawing them out from his back and slipping them up and around his neck. Now you can feel the top arch of his wings, slide your hands out as far as you can reach, which isn’t far with the size of them. You turn your head into his neck, kiss his collarbone, smile a little when he shivers at your touch. 

 

Gabriel almost goes to his knees when your fingers slip between the sensitive feathers along the top of his wings. The shafts lift, letting your fingers slip into the soft inner down, and when your nails graze over the skin of his wings his whole body trembles. His grace surges breifly, and his cock is getting hard, he knows you can feel it. 

 

You feel fluffy inner feathers, so warm they’re almost hot. When you hit the skin of his wings you feel him shiver, his hips pushing into you. The hand on your ass slides low, cupping the bottom curve of your butt, his fingers pressing into your inner thigh. 

 

You want to spread your legs, let his fingers slide in further, but with the pants and the way you’re standing it wouldn’t help anyway. 

 

You let your hands move down the inside of his wings, fingers separating feathers as they go. Gabriel’s breath is shaky, you’ve never heard him like this. This is intimacy beyond the sex you have. You realize that you’re touching him right now, really  _ him _ , not his vessel. That’s a rather profound realization. 

 

Gabriel’s aching cock is pressed into your stomach, and he feels it leaking, dampening the fabric of his pants. The way you’re standing, so close together, it’s not letting you have the movement he wants you to have. He wants you to touch every inch of his wings. He’s desperate for it.

 

You can’t move your hands very far down his wings because his shoulders and arms are in the way. When you shift a little he relaxes his arms around you and you step back. His face is tight, his golden brown eyes locked on you. The sun hits them, makes them almost look like they’re glowing. 

 

When you reach for the buttons of his shirt he grips your wrist. A wave of his hand has his shirt gone, and when you glance down he waves it again and his pants are gone. He’s so hard already, cock flushed and hanging heavy. This is a level of turned on you’ve never seen him reach before, and it makes you want him so much it hurts. 

 

You look out over each wing. You wish you knew more about the anatomy of them. What the feather types are called. This is outside your realm of expertise. 

 

You move away from him, walking along his right wing, extending a hand so that it runs along the top line. You follow it out, all the way to the tip of the wing. The feathers here are as tall as you are, which is an amazing sight. You run your palm down the edge of one, marveling at the weight of it. How are they seemingly weightless and heavy all at once? You notice once again that it’s different from any bird feather you’ve seen. There’s something about it that seems almost… Metallic? You’re not sure if that’s the right word. 

 

Gabriel sees you studying his feathers, curiosity written on your face. Your brows are drawn together, your mouth pursed slightly. Your palm runs the edge and his instinct is to draw the wing in, pull you to him, but he doesn’t. He lets you explore. 

 

“Those are my primaries,” Gabriel says. He’s not sure why he chose this moment to speak, but it seemed right. You seem to be thinking a million questions, and he wants you to be able to ask them, if you want. 

 

You look up at him, away from the feather in your hand, surprised. You’d been wondering what this type of feather was. 

 

He raises his wings higher, almost like an anatomy lesson. He can flex individual feathers, and it’s fascinating to see. 

 

Gabriel flexes his flight feathers. “Primaries,” he explains. He moves the set above those. “Primary coverts,” he moves through flexing feathers and naming them, watching the interest on your face grow. “Secondaries, secondary coverts, tertiaries, scapulars, marginal coverts, alulas.” 

 

This is too much to take in and remember right now, but you also know it’s something you’ll never forget. Having an angel give you a wing anatomy lesson isn’t something one normally has happen. 

 

You walk around the tip of the wing, looking at them from behind. You don’t touch, instead walking slowly to stand behind him. Taking in his shoulders, the wings raising up and out, his strong back, legs and ass on display for you. You’re amazed once again with the glinting gold when you don’t look directly at the wings. It’s beautiful. 

 

When you step up close and kiss the spot between his wings his head drops. His wings fluff and ruffle, and you touch all the little feathers that dot his back at the base of the strong wings. 

 

Gabriel sighs at your touch. He lowers his eyes, looking down at his bare feet. He tamps his grace down when he feels it building. A light show is not what’s needed right now. He needs to stay calm, and a blinding blast of grace is far from calm. 

 

He didn’t know he wanted this, needed it, until he felt your hands on his wings. Now he’s pretty sure he won’t be able to live without it, which is a scary thought. The thought of claiming you flashes in his mind again, and his cock twitches at the idea. He’d mate with you in a heartbeat if he felt he was worthy of you, but he’s not. He has to remember that. He loses focus on his thoughts when your fingers slide into his scapulars. 

 

You kiss a line down between his wings, watching the massive things droop lower and lower as he relaxes. Pretty soon they’ll knock him off balance and he’ll fall over. He doesn’t seem to care. 

 

You massage, fingers moving in, down between shafts, finding furry down and warm skin. You take the care with his wings that he normally takes with your body, making sure nothing goes untouched, no inch goes unloved. 

 

Moving out one wing, arranging feathers, lining them perfectly, you notice that the birds are singing again. They’re almost joyous, singing in the tree above you, and you smile. You take your time, looking back at his body from time to time, wondering how he’s standing. 

 

As you reach the tip of one wing you move back to the center, kissing his spine, and then working in the other direction. 

 

If Gabriel actually needed sleep he wouldn’t be able to fight it now. As it is, he thinks he’s so relaxed he’s found zen. He’s still wildly turned on though, and his grace is coiling and rolling, a steady build that he has to watch. He’s pretty sure he understands why you seem so sleepy after a massage now though, and yet you always still seem to want him. That’s exactly how he feels. He’s barely standing as you work your way out his other wing, preening him.

 

He can’t stop imagining you naked. He wants your clothes off, your skin exposed to the wind. He wants your body pressed to his feathers. He can feel with his feathers, something almost like feeling with skin, and he wants to  _ feel _ you. 

 

Feathers feel like silk. Soft and slick, and deceivingly strong, just like fabric made from spider webs. You push your sleeves up, hands buried between feathers, wanting to feel them on all the skin you can. 

 

When you round the tip of his wing, moving to the front of him again, he suddenly curls the massive appendage in. It’s the closest you’ve ever felt to the old saying, “being swept off your feet,” and you’re safely deposited directly in front of his face. 

 

His arms tug you into him, face in your neck, inhaling your scent. 

 

“The way you’re touching me,” Gabriel practically growls into your skin, “it’s the way a mate would touch me, sweetheart. If you don’t stop I’m afraid I’ll claim you.” 

 

Your hands are around his neck, fingers reaching deep into his wings again. You’ve read a little about angels and mates, although it’s always hard to know what’s accurate in angel lore and what’s completely made up. Angels aren’t forthcoming with their ways. 

 

“Would claiming me be a bad thing?” You whisper the question, almost afraid of the answer. What if he doesn’t want you as his mate?

 

Gabriel’s fingers dig into your back, his hips grinding his cock into your stomach. He almost whines at the friction. Heaven help him he wants your clothes off, but it’s probably a good thing they’re not. Parts of him are being awakened that he didn’t even know still existed. There’s an ancient, almost primal part of him that’s come to life again. If he could tell you what it feels like you’d probably be afraid, and maybe you should be. 

 

“Only for you,” he whispers back,  “you’d be tied to me forever.” 

 

So part of what you read was true anyway. Once it’s done an angel and their mate are forever linked. The relief at his answer is instant. It’s not that he doesn’t want  _ you _ . 

 

“What if I want that?” God, you wish your clothes were off. You’d give anything if your clothes were off. You’d give anything to have him right now. You’re aching between your legs, thighs pressing together tightly to try to ease it. 

 

“You don’t want to be stuck with me,” Gabriel knows he’s being too rough with his hands, he needs to settle himself down, but every touch of your fingers to his quills goes straight to his cock, and his grace. Dammit, if he doesn’t slow down he’s going to be beyond a point of stopping. This desire he’s feeling for you has gone above normal limits, he’s almost out of control. “Wish these clothes were off,” he tugs on your shirt, “probably a good thing they’re in the way.” 

 

“No, it’s not,” you almost whine, “get them off me, please?” You take a shaky breath. Gabriel’s hands on your back are almost bruisingly strong. He’s not meaning to hurt you, but he’s so amped up he’s bordering on it. Not that you want him to stop. You never want him to stop. 

 

“Sugar, don’t tempt me,” Gabriel slides his hands down, fingers digging into your ass. “If I take your clothes off there’s no stopping.” 

 

“I don’t want to stop,” you pull on his feathers lightly, satisfied when he hisses and thrusts his cock between you, “want to be your mate, angel.” 

 

“You don’t know what you're asking.” Gabriel should stop this. He needs to stop this right now. He’s so possessive of you in this moment it’s scary. He wants to mark you, take you, make you his. The word  _ mine  _ is on the tip of his tongue. 

 

You try to compose yourself, thinking. “I do know. It means we’re tied together forever. Your grace marks my soul, leaving a piece of you in me and taking a piece of me with you. It anchors us together, it can’t be undone or broken. It makes you mine, Gabriel. And it makes me yours.” 

 

Gabriel manages to pull back, cupping your face in his warm hands as his eyes search yours. 

 

“How do you know that?” 

 

You pull your hands from his wings, resting them on his shoulders. You both need to think clearly for a second and playing his feathers won’t help that. 

 

“I found a tome on angel lore awhile back. I’ve been reading through it. Most of it is garbage I think, but it sounds like they got a few things right.” 

 

“If you do this,” Gabriel pauses, slows himself down for a beat. “If  _ we _ do this, that’s it, sweets. There’s no going back. We’re tied together forever. You’ll be mine.” 

 

The angels teeth bite around the word mine. His grace, usually so controlled, flashes in his eyes. His wings react to, the posture of them tightening, relaxation gone.

 

Gabriel goes on. “I don’t want that. I don’t want you to be stuck with me. You haven’t thought this through.” His face crumbles for a moment, and then he leans in to rest his forehead on yours.

 

Your heart breaks. How in the world could he think so little of himself? There’s nothing you could ever want more than to be with him, than to be  _ his _ .   

 

“I’ve thought about it. I think about it all the time. I want you, I don’t want anyone but you. Do you want me?” 

 

Gabriel closes his eyes tighter. He should tell you no. He should let you go. This isn’t fair to do to you. You can’t possibly understand what you’re saying. Some day the novelty of him will wear off and you’ll realize you’re stuck, he knows that. He has to tell you no, even if it breaks your heart. 

 

“Yes,” the words betray him, “yes, I want you. Only you.” 

 

You kiss him, hard and desperate. There are tears, yours, his, you’re not sure. Probably both. You hold on to the back of his neck, your leg snaking up the outside of his thigh. “ _ Please. _ ” You’re begging and you know it. You don’t even care. 

 

His hands move from where they cup your face, and when they hit the skin on your back you realize your clothes are gone. His wings arch around you, enveloping you both in a world of gold and silence. They block the wind, mute out the birds, and there’s nothing in the world anymore besides you and this angel.  _ Your _ angel. 

 

He reaches down for your other thigh, pulling you up, and you lock your ankles behind his waist. He works his cock down between your legs, the head bumping your aching clit, making you groan. 

 

Gabriel tries to think. He wants to make this good, perfect, he wants to make you come over and over. He’s so desperate to be inside you that he can’t do it. He rubs his cock on your clit a few times, listening to you gasp, your nails digging into his neck, and then he can’t wait anymore. 

 

The angel places his hands on your hips, lining himself up and then lowering you down onto his aching cock. Your feet dig in where they’re wrapped around his back, heels pressing into him. 

 

Your hands claw at his back and neck as you whimper into his shoulder. God, he feels good, so damn good. His cock is perfect, you’ve never felt anything so perfect, so right, in your life. His wings tighten around you and you feel the feather press into the bare skin of your back. 

 

Gabriel buries himself in you slowly, inch by torturous inch, amazed at how hot and tight you are.  _ Fuck _ you feel good. You always feel so  _ good _ . He pauses when he bottoms out, letting you adjust. He holds you there, waiting until your hands still and he knows you’re ready. 

 

He’s not expecting your hands in his wings. When he feels it it’s like electricity runs through him, and he’s swear his cock grows even more inside you. He lifts you up and thrusts into you hard. 

 

“Oh shit,” you breathe, hands tightening to get a better grip on the feathers. “Fuck me,” you whine. 

 

Hearing those words out of your mouth makes him lose the thread of composure that was holding him together. Gabriel fists one hand in your hair, yanking your head back, teeth grazing over your neck as he slams into you. 

 

He knows the Enochian that will bind you. Every angel is created with that knowledge. He’d never imagined himself ever saying the ritual, but when he breathes them into your skin he knows this was always meant to be. 

 

You don’t understand the language, but somehow you know that what he’s saying will tie you to him. The strange syllables are mixed with words you know,  _ sweetheart, want you, only you, mine, mine, mine.  _ Tears trail down your cheeks. You’re overwhelmed at his words, at how you feel, and you can’t control it. 

 

His feathers slip along your skin, smooth and soft, supporting your back. One of his hands holds your hip, the other your hair, and when he pulls you back he lets your weight rest on his wings. 

 

Gabriel gives your body to his wings. He needs his mouth over your heart to complete the ritual, and he trails kisses over your chest as he works his way down. The ritual is almost done, he can feel it building. He’s fucking you so hard it should probably hurt you, but it doesn’t. The sounds you’re making aren’t sounds of pain. 

 

You trust him, letting go of his wings and shoulders, and recline back. Your hands move over your head and grip into the feathers there. You’re surrounded by them, and the shimmer of gold is reflected in his eyes when he looks up. 

 

Gabriel looks at you before he says the final words over your heart. He wants to see your face, know that you’re ready, and you are. He can see it. Once the words are out he feels the charge in the air, knows his grace is rising of it’s own accord. He wants to protect you, shield you, but he has to wait. 

 

The static in the air cracks. Light rises in the angel’s eyes, dancing and glowing, and you feel something in your heart, no,  _ deeper _ than your heart. It’s something in the core of you, down in the essence. A warmth builds, just as the glow of light gets stronger, and you know to close your eyes when it gets too bright. You wouldn’t be able to see through the blinding light anyway. 

 

His grace reaches inside you, tangling in the perfection of your soul, tieing it to him. It leaves some of itself there, marking you, so any angel you see now will know that you’re his. It will also leave you so open to each other you’ll feel each other at all times. Emotions won’t be hidden, your thoughts and prayers will go straight to him; you’re laid bare to each other in a way it’s hard to explain. 

 

The warmth inside you reaches a peak, and it’s like a door is opened. You can feel Gabriel like you feel yourself, feel his love, his devotion to you, his possessiveness over you. He’s never stopped moving inside you through this whole thing, and with your hands fisted in his feathers and his grace exploring your soul you’re not sure how much longer either of you will last. 

 

Gabriel’s grace subsides. Nothing was painful about mating, but it leaves an immediate change in you both, you’re instantly altered. He knows what you need as you open your eyes and look at him, tears shining as he feels how much you love him for the very first time. 

 

Gabriel’s thumb slips over your clit, working quick and precise circles, and you’re coming within seconds. Your hands shove deeper into his wings, nails clawing at skin, and you cry out with the intensity of it. 

 

He feels you clench around his cock and comes completely undone. When your hands dig into his feathers Gabriel comes harder than ever before. His cock jerks inside you, your muscles twitching and milking him with each thrust. 

 

“Mine,” he pulls you back up, mouth silencing your cries with a kiss, “you’re  _ mine _ .”

 

The aftershocks of your orgasm make you clench around him with each flick of his thumb on your clit. You’re oversensitive, and just as you’re about to ask him to stop a second orgasm rolls over you out of nowhere. 

 

Your walls tighten around him again, so hot and slick around his cock he’s pretty sure this is heaven on earth. His teeth nip your bottom lip as he keens out a “hhhnnnggg” whine at the tightness inside you. 

 

Your hand yanks the hair on top of his head, pulling his face back to look in his eyes. “And you’re  _ mine _ .”

 

He thrusts into you again. Everything inside you is swollen and sensitive, and you whine out a “yes” between your teeth. 

 

You rest, head falling forward to rest on his cheek. He holds you, feathers of his wings caressing your back. 

 

Gabriel looks up at the sky. The sun is setting and there’s just a blush of pink and orange above him, he can see it through a small crack between his wings. He blinks, trying to sift through what he’s feeling, both from you and from himself. 

 

This all happened so fast. He wasn’t prepared for this. Still, now that it’s done, he wouldn’t go back and change it. He knows it was right. The question is, will you still feel it’s right when the post mating glow wears off? When one of his tricks really ticks you off and you want to slap him? Or when he gets scared and wants to run? What then?

 

“You know I can feel all that, right?” You ask, your voice cutting through the quiet. Sometimes as a human dealing with your own abundance of emotions is a struggle, adding an apprehensive archangel to the mix is a lot to process, and that’s putting it mildly. 

 

Gabriel lets you lean back, your feet finding the ground once again. He relaxes his wings, then stretches him out at his sides. 

 

You blink at the light. His wings had blocked so much of it and you hadn’t realized. He’s looking at you, his face not betraying all the insecurity that he’s feeling. He can’t hide any of that from you anymore, and for that you’re glad. 

 

Your hands rest on his bare chest as you stare into those golden eyes. “I won’t regret this. I’m never going to regret this.” 

 

He can feel the meaning behind your words, he knows they’re true. He never knew having a mate, having someone who loved him, would make him feel more like the angel he is since he left heaven. He slides a hand into your hair, massaging your neck. “I’m going to remind you of those words when you find out I ate the last of your M&M’s.” 

 

You can’t help but laugh even though you roll your eyes at him. 

 

“You’re stuck with me now, kitten. What are you gonna do with a Trickster Archangel for the rest of your life?” 

 

You sigh at him, cupping his cheek. “I’m going to love you, silly. What the hell else would I do with you?”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
